Chapter Three

I’m
at home now, as I planned to be.I
wanted to chill out on my own for the evening, but that’s gone now.I need to tell you this, because tonight you
made me realise how I really felt.Seeing you out in the street, bellowing a hysterical wave of emotion at
me, I know that I’m not right for you.You want too much from me – you want me to be a character that you have
created, a live-wire to show off to your friends like a badge of
decadence.I’m good for your self worth
am I not?You like the creative type
because it fills in the artistic gap in your life.That, I think, is the sad truth.

This hasn’t come from nowhere, I
thought it may have been the case for some time, I just didn’t dare say
it.I’m sure I smack of arrogance right
now – reading back the first lines tells me that it would seem that way.But you get annoyed with me, Faye, when I’m
not reverting to type.You’re intolerant
of my off days – you pitch me in front of your friends and wait for me to say
something clever.Tonight, I see it all
very clearly.I wanted to have an early
night and you can’t understand it.Why
can’t I be as vibrant as the first day you met me?

Being with you makes me tired, at
times.There is little inspiration to be
drawn from conversing with you.You ask
me lots of questions, and you want to know what I think – but you give nothing
back.You tell me functional things
about your day and my mind switches off.I need inspiration.

If I’m honest, Faye, it’s not just
you.It’s this place.I see it more and more now.It’s insipid.Lots of dreams, not enough action.People see Manchester as a place to do things, but most of them only
ever talk about it.That’s not the life
I wish to have laid out for me.I want
to be the one that people resent.I want
to get too big for my boots, something that only success can afford me.Council paper-pushing initiatives bore me, so
in turn it must mean that you bore me also.I wish this weren’t so, because you are a delightful young woman with a
lot of good qualities.You will be good
for someone, I can promise you that.You
need someone with a determined future – my question marks don’t fit in with
your desire for promotion.You are doing
well at what you do, and I am immeasurably proud of your achievements – but
what boosts your heart, deep down leaves me very cold.

I need to matter and I need it to
happen soon.I see Barry getting bitter
that the world hasn’t fallen to its knees and fellated him vigorously, and I
fear that I will be bitter too if I do not seek out my own opportunities.

How I would love to say this to your
face, but you never let me finish a sentence.

I’m sure you think me conceited –
and yes, I probably am – but others have seen this in you as well.They think that you use me to give to you an
edge, and that I use you to make me look edgier.And they are right.They are, aren’t they?You’re my straight-man, but it’s together
that we make the double act.I keep
viewing us from every imaginable angle, and I just don’t see the future for
either of us.You need to be with Ross
in Human Resources, me with someone called Posterity.Those are out destinies, and we should accept
them.

I’m trying to convince myself as
much as I wish to convince you.I do not
know if this is merely a reaction to your behaviour tonight, or the absolute
truth.The more I think, the more I’m
swinging towards the latter.I do love
you, but we have no future, and it’s only fair that we both accept this as soon
as possible.

I intend to move to London in a few
weeks – I need to do something with my life before I get too set in my
ways.I never planned a stagnant adult life,
and tonight, in and amongst our routine, I realised that I was dangerously
close to being lost forever.That is not
going to happen…

Ripley
paused for the first time since he had put pen to paper.The words had slipped out so easily, the
diatribe of semi-loathing for a girl he was meant to love.Part of it was anger that Faye had snatched
his planned solitude that evening.He
wanted to put an album on, spark up a joint, probably masturbate and then write
some thoughts on moving on.He had
always felt that he was on a journey and wanted to document as many of his
thoughts in touching prose as he could.He wished to hurt Faye as much as he willed himself to spare her
feelings.She did deserve the truth, it
was just that this truth was a particularly cold one.

He
paced around his flat, and eventually drew himself to the window.When he was younger, he imagined that he
would stare out at a panoramic cityscape, inspired by the multitude of
possibilities that being out on his own in Manchester would bring him.In reality, any potential view was occluded
by being on the first floor and completely overshadowed by a disused mill.The city was now full of one man apartments, so
the developers had been forced to drive themselves to the less scenic, more
dilapidated outskirts of Ancoats.In
time, there would be a view.For now,
though, it was as banal as the rest of Ripley’s life.

It
was a position that Ripley could only maintain for a short period of time
before he was completely bored.There
was no potential in the window, the liveliest part of the room being his letter
to the woman he told himself he once loved.His mental block extinguished by the grizzly reality beyond the window,
Ripley continued to write with refreshed aplomb.

…
I can’t allow myself to be wasted.If we
were both to follow our dreams, then we end up in separate places.If one of us were to succeed together, the
other would be resentful.We can’t do
this to ourselves, can we Faye?

Tonight, our mutual friend Ryan is
painting London red, alone.How I envy
him.He’s in the thick of the excitement
down there.He is only going to a gig,
but at least he is alive tonight.We
weren’t.I was left behind because you
don’t like Bright Eyes, do you?I don’t
want to be left behind again – it is the one thing I am most scared of.There I was gazing over a balcony of
worthless lives, people that think they will be something one day, and I knew
that I didn’t have a second to waste.I
have a future of indulgence elsewhere.I
want you to see my name in a few years associated with something I’ve done, and
I want you to be pleased for me.

By now, I’m sure you loathe me.But this is for you as much as it is for
me.I’m not purely selfish.I have your best interests at heart.And one day I will love to hear what you
called your three children.

I don’t think less of you for having
modest ambitions.Variety is
inspiration, I assure you.You are a
lovely person and I wish you well.

Ripley

Staring at the page, Ripley was
unsure whether he would be courageous enough to send the letter, or whether his
disappearance would say everything he daren’t.Faye hadn’t called him, which he was surprised about.She was usually compelled to have her say all
over again by now.It was in her nature
to have things clean and uncomplicated.

Maybe
he would have felt different if he’d had a pill that evening – his
disappointment at not scoring being transferred onto his loving
girlfriend.But Ripley wasn’t that
shallow.

Before
he could progress his feelings on his own depth, Ripley was distracted by the
phone ringing and the inevitable wailing girlfriend awaiting him when he
answered.He didn’t have the heart.

But
looking at his mobile, Ripley’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that it was a
London number.It was a bit late for
agents to be calling, but then he wasn’t planning on living by the nine-to-five
either, so it made sense.He swiftly
answered the phone, expecting the beginning of a new personal adventure.